


In War and Death

by icandrawamoth



Series: Love's Oldest Enemy 'verse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Phone Calls & Telephones, Shock, badthingshappenbingo, the Wes/Hobbie is mostly just implied in this one but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: “It's Tycho," Wedge says, too calm.Wes freezes, pen dropping from his hand and clicking softly against the desktop.“He's gone.”





	In War and Death

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, that one really sad thing I wrote that one time is now a 'verse. Also submitted for badthingshappenbingo prompt "don't let them see you cry."

Wes Janson is in his element. The desk around him is piled high with stacks of flimsi and datacards, three different datapads open showing various information screens, augmented by an additional holoplate projecting a row of numbers into the air to match the ones he envisions in the back of his head, rearranging and adding and analyzing them as he goes.

The comm panel on the desk pings, and he glances at it just long enough to see the name and hit the voice-only answer button. “Hang on a minute, Wedge.” He reaches over a neat pile of flimsi reports to mark a number down on a notepad before he can forget it. “What's up?”

“I have bad news.”

His voice is even, though, so Wes isn't too worried. He continues devoting half his attention to the call and the other half to determining the next figure. “Shoot, I'm sure I can handle it.”

“It's Tycho.”

Wes freezes, pen dropping from his hand and clicking softly against the desktop.

“He's gone.”

“Gone?” Wes repeats numbly, because Wedge can't possibly mean what Wes is thinking. If Tycho were – if he were _gone_ gone, there's no way Wedge would be this calm about it.

Wes reaches out a trembling hand to flip a switch on the holoplate, and his friend shivers into view, chest up – he's sitting at his desk, too. Even through the flickering blue holo, Wes can see how pale he is and the way his hair is mussed.

Wedge's eyes flicker as he watches the holofeed come alive on his end. “Gone,” he repeats slowly. He pauses, mouth open for a long moment before he adds, “Dead.”

A void opens in Wes's chest, seeming to suck all the light and energy in the room into it. Tycho dead. After everything the man had survived, it's hard to believe. But Wes knows what the life of a fighter pilot is like, they all do – here today, gone tomorrow. That doesn't make it hurt any less.

And he can only begin to imagine how exponentially more painful it is for Wedge. When he and Tycho had first met, it had taken Wedge time to warm up to him, but after that they'd been inseparable. Friendship had soon turned to romance, and Wes had never seen two people more in love. Every hardship they went through only seemed to bring them closer. Now for Wedge to lose him...

It suddenly makes sense why he's so calm. He's still in shock. Has to be.

“Wedge, I'm so sorry,” are the only words Wes can muster.

“It's strange,” Wedge says, almost as if he didn't hear him. “If it were anyone else in the squadron, there would be condolence letters to write to friends and family and lover. But all he had was us. The Rogues are all here, so there's just you and Hobbie and Winter to contact.”

“Wedge.”

“Is Hobbie there?” he goes on. “Maybe you should get him.”

“Wedge. What happened?”

Wedge's mouth twists, but his control reasserts itself quickly. “It was just a mission,” he murmurs, gazing into the middle distance like he's seeing it unfold in front of him again. “We were done. We were leaving the planet, and then a TIE popped up out of nowhere, got a shot off before anyone could do anything.” Wedge shakes his head slowly, then meets Wes's gaze through the holocam. “TIE lasers shouldn't have been able to punch through his shields like that.”

It comes out a like a question, like he wants Wes to explain why this happened, and Wes has nothing for him.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. He swallows down the _are you okay?_ that wants to follow. What an incredibly asinine question. “Is someone with you?” he asks instead. Space has suddenly never seemed so large; he wants to be at Wedge's side _now_ , but even if he hangs up and climbs into his X-wing immediately, it'll still be nearly a full day before he reaches Coruscant.

“The rest of the squadron is here. They're keeping an eye on me, but I'm fine.”

“Wedge, you're not fine.” It looks like it's going to take him awhile to realize, though, and Wes can only image how hard he's going to crash when it happens. “That's okay. I have no idea how-”

“I'm _fine_. My pilots are hurting, and they come first.”

“Okay. I'm going to come out there, all right? I can be in by late tomorrow, maybe early the next day.”

“The service is that day. In the auxiliary hanger here at Rogue Squadron's base. Just the Rogues and a handful of friends.”

 _That's fast_ , Wes thinks, but he knows there's no use delaying it either. “I'll be there,” he promises. “And I'll make sure Hobbie is, too. He took some of the kids out on a hypernav exercise and isn't supposed to be back until the end of the week, but I can leave him a message at one of their checkpoints. He'll make it.”

“We can delay if he's not.”

“We would never miss it, for Tycho or for you.”

Wedge's eyes fall closed as he nods, and his face twitches again. Of course Wes won't blame him for crying, but he knows if Wedge breaks down, he's not going to be able to keep it together either.

“Wedge, what can I do for you?” he asks, aching for _something_.

“No one can do anything,” Wedge says numbly. His eyes open, and though they're shiny now, no tears fall. “It's done.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” Wes tells him gently. “I know I don't understand what you're feeling, but I'm your friend. I'm here to listen.” He wants to say _If it were Hobbie-_ , but he won't add to Wedge's very real grief with his own theoretical pain.

“I know.” Wedge's voice cracks, just a bit, and Wes watches him swallow hard. “And I appreciate that. But it's...it's too fresh,” he finishes, wobbly, and swallows again. “Just get here. Okay?”

“As soon as I hang up with you, I'm leaving a message for Hobbie and going straight to my X-wing.” Wes blinks a few times, fighting tears that suddenly threaten stronger than before. He doesn't want to leave Wedge, but he has to disconnect before he breaks. And it's true that he can't leave the base without leaving his desk. “Hey,” he says, trying for a lightness that, though always second nature to him, barely responds now, “you've been the recipient of scores of my famous wampa hugs over the years, yeah? Just imagine that's what's happening right now. I'm giving you a huge tight wampa hug and not letting you go. Keep imagining that until I'm there to do it for real.”

“I'll look forward to it,” Wedge whispers and ends the call.

Wes lets out a shaky breath, rubbing his face like he can press the sudden tears back into his eyes. Tycho is dead, and Wedge is on the verge of breaking. Hobbie is somewhere out in space about to find out one of his best friends is gone, and Wes won't even be able to tell him in person. It's not fair. But then nothing ever is in war and death.


End file.
